~ Beyond silence ~

Since the beginning of the world there has been an enigma, except that man had always been looking for it, but had never found it. It is present everywhere, but it’s hard to reach its chambers. It’s guarded by deep waters, dense forests and profound thoughts. Everything important began with it: architecture, philosophy, sculpture. It is, at the same time, the strongest roar, and the only thing which stops when its name is spoken. The name of it is Silence. Everything is unknown beyond it. All the depths in nature are silent, as are all the profound feelings in man: love, faith, courage, persistence. Even the greatest pain is not great enough if it is revealed on our faces or if it is heard. For centuries, man has found silence in faith and prayers, philosophers in philosophy, artists in art. The great orators were turned towards the sea during their speech, looking for inspiration in the silence of that place. How can we find, in life and speech, a secret thread which will lead us along the entangled paths of our passion to silence? Do we have enough strength to resist our greatest enemies, thrills and passion? Or, are we afraid of silence and its undiscovered paths, its sparkle that has often lit our soul, its ominous stillness which has brought us tough days? And just when we think that we have found it, we are uneasy and curious again, we wonder what’s beyond it. Maybe that is the end, torn down sacred monuments which we have worshiped, demolished cities which we have been building for centuries. We will always long for silence as we do for light and air, even though we, ourselves, destroy it most. Our uncontrollable passion leads us to the unknown, uncertainty, and into redemption. By making the poison, we always poison ourselves first. Out of our careless words, enemies and unease are born. It’s already been said that honesty doesn’t mean always telling what’s on your mind. It actually means that everything you don’t think should be left unspoken. You should rush slowly into silence. And quietly, if we say its name it will stop. There will be unknown world beyond it.
Beyond silence, author Suzana Stojanović, February 12, 2007

~ When gone good fairies are forever lost ~

Talking creates an illusion of life and duration. It makes one forget about transience and in that way people seem to postpone death. Seneca said that life was short, art long-lasting, an opportunity quick, an attempt dangerous and that a decision was difficult. Man, finding himself trapped in that chaos, often wishes to run away into some other world, a world made of stories, fairy tales and myths about beautiful forever lost old times. Unable to confront the cruel reality, he starts believing in miracles. He searches his good fairies, looks for them in many awkward places, not knowing that the Golden Age is long gone and that gone good fairies are forever lost. In ancient times, people were good. There was no sadness, because fairies were helping them. Happiness came from the Gods of light and therefore from fairies, because they were the goddesses of light. There was one heart unifying all the people’s hearts, there was one will, one custom, one law, until they let the fairies down. Terrified and numb, they helplessly watched the saddest of all ruins in the world, the ruin of a man. The song ceased, guns started shooting and people went to war. According to the legends the unhappy fairies started wandering through the mountains and singing songs with the wind. They were trying to protect their mountain world from a man they trusted no more. If men went to pick herbs, they would throw them into the abyss from a cliff, because they didn’t want to share their power over herbs with others. They were hiding them in their secret gardens. Life of each fairy was connected with a certain tree, plant, mountain, spring, river or a lake. There wasn’t a place they couldn’t live in or build their fairy castles on: they lived in lower clouds and protected Perun, the god, inside thick treetops and in the sea, they fed on roe milk and rode deer. There were as many fairies as there were springs in the mountains. While they were residing there, the springs were inexhaustible and curable. They often chose caves for their home, and there only the chosen ones could see that wonderful another world and the beauty of their long undone hair. That world turned into a maze of rocks with no way out before many visitors. Fairies loved music and hated noise. They went to some quieter places because of the noise that civilization had brought into their castles. People drove them away with their constant comings and the destruction of their caves. The ones that lived in the springs, lakes and breams turned into swans, snakes and birds in order to hide from people. And then tireless hunters appeared from somewhere. What remained is only a story that some people still converse with good fairies. Some look for them in rare flowers, in the first dew, in marvelous circles of mushrooms that, according to the legend, grew in places where fairies once had danced. It is still believed that they could come back some day; maybe then when people finally take their garbage with them. What about the ruined caves, plants, springs, lakes and rivers? Will they come back, too?
When gone good fairies are forever lost, author Suzana Stojanović, November 20, 2007

~ A call at midnight ~

Jack London said: “For most people, life is like a bad time. They stand and wait to pass.” There are other ones that time is always missing. They use a variety of tricks to reach it, they even steal it. They steal it from night. In the kingdom of darkness and silence, they quietly go to their secret gardens and steal time for reflection and reverie. Even the gods favor them, so they donate time to love them in the small hours. The night, mysterious and unpredictable, is always a challenge for restless spirits. Fear reigns in the depths of the shadows. We don’t see it, but we can feel its presence. The courage succumbs slowly in front of its abyss, inborn somewhere deep inside ourselves, inherited from some terrified far ancestor. Fear maddening and clouds the mind and it is the main source of human crime. In the dark labyrinth he runs away from small and large, of old age and poor, from evil words and evil diseases, of deserted woods and empty rooms, the voice of the unknown and unfamiliar steps, he flees from the threat and destruction, deceit and traps, despair and madness. In the deep darkness and silence, strolling along the kingdom of his spirit, a man, not knowing enough of himself and unable to defeat fear, often hears the inaudible, see the invisible. Nothing in the night is not as great importance as the moment when the clockwise covered, when in eerie silence clocks start ticking midnight. At that moment, awakened from a half-sleep, we fight with a bunch of thoughts that persistently coming like a river after the rain. Another day is behind us, life inevitably passes, a new day begins and who knows what it brings. Those, to whom the day was bad, just waiting for it to finish and to leave it behind them, and some complain that it ended, maybe that day was one of the best days of their lives. In that separation of time it looks like two invisible worlds are being separated: one oriented towards the past, the other to the future. Those, who are not afraid to look back in time, are ready for the arrival of a new day. Those, who run away from the past, rush into the future for fear that they do not miss anything. And again, all together, brave and timid, patient and impatient, slow and fast, we can not resist time. Each of its midnight tirelessly informs us that we are powerless. Some in the impotence increases with life; some are born at midnight and the end of life they are not sure when their birthday is, some are afraid of ghosts and vampires, so wide-eyed and staring into the darkness and waiting for midnight to pass, and for some midnight is inspiring and sensual. There is also a very interesting kind of people who wake up at midnight. Somehow they considered all the uncertainty and silence and try to undermine the noise: they eat, banging, rummaging through things, and, most of all, they like to call. As if they were just at that moment remembered something very important, they consistently turn to numbers and call, selfishly impair one’s dreams in the night. More selfish, they persistently are apologizing due to a broken dream. There are also one more interesting types of people, as they are called Guardians of the Night, whose spend their entire life in the vigil and anticipation. They always respond to calls and they are the happiest in the world when somebody calls them at midnight. They are convinced that someone is thinking of them, that they are not forgotten, but they do not realize that they are just victims of those who wake up at midnight. It is good as long as they do not realize it, because the call at midnight could save someone’s life, or at least to delay its end. Vietnamese proverb says that the only one who can not sleep knows how long night is. And what about those who are dreaming awake?
A call at midnight, author Suzana Stojanović, August 5, 2015

~ Life in the clouds ~

There’s a legend of a bird that sings more beautifully than any other living being on Earth, only once in its lifetime. As soon as it leaves its nest, it starts looking for a thorn tree and doesn’t rest until it finds it. It crawls under its wild and intertwined branches and, while singing, it stabs its body at the longest and the sharpest thorn. While dying, its pain grows into a beautiful song, putting a nightingale song in shade. The price for that beautiful song is life, because the best things in life can be achieved only at the price of a great pain, at least, according to the legend. We dream of our towers since childhood, but the fulfillment of everything we carry inside us and the actual battles have to be fought there where destiny throws us, at some nameless space without glow and beauty, without witnesses and judges. Life never gives us what it promises; it’s always more or less than that. Everything on its shelves is attractive and rewarding, but the real taste of this motley is felt only when we taste it. Enchanted by its vast spaces, we are constantly rush from one side to the other, and not misgiving that each of our movements and moves leave traces. Often naive and careless, we write stories without an eraser. Without dramatic text, on an open stage with a curtain of clouds, we play badly assigned roles. Without the ability to choose whether we will act in a tragedy or comedy, whether we will laugh or cry, we transform ourselves from a man into a ghost, from a witch in a good fairy, from a prince to a beggar, from a wise man into a fool. Tired of constant transformation and disguise, some actors accept life as much as he is; they do not choose the role or the director. Unlike them, there are those who believe that they can climb to the clouds. They can not resist blue dreams and comfortable white pillows, which persistently call them and raise their visions up to the sky. Life at altitudes looks lightweight like a breeze. Without foundations, built of imagination and dreams, it can not even collapse. Like clouds, it just passes and disappears somewhere in an infinite of illusions. Walking along that thin wire between heaven and earth, at one point, some optimists stop. As they observe the ground, they realize that the heights are not as tempting as they appear to them and that the clouds are not as close as they look. Lost somewhere between the ground and the blue sky, they stand and do not know if they will go up or down, until the crucial moments, those which make them choose, startle them. Some souls stay trapped forever within that invisible boundary and sail through life as straws float down the river; they don’t move, they are carried; they don’t know what they want and even less what they are able to do. The ones with a restless spirit are constantly flying up and down; while they are on the ground they watch the clouds and while they are in clouds they search for runways to land. They always indefatigably go in circles, and they’re never bored. They meet various people in their lifetime: the ones in clouds, the ones on the ground and the trapped ones. There are those that are afraid of flying. They spend their entire life firmly bound to the ground. Out of great fear they never watch the clouds; they don’t even dream of them. They usually understand only the things they themselves have experienced; they can’t imagine something completely new and different. Some people express their strongest desires in just one word. With glow in the eyes, they are talking about the heights and their beauties. Everything in their lives is easy and achievable. The only obstacle that stands in the way to their destination is the decision. We watch them packing suitcases and setting off in a one-way direction, towards the clouds. They are in search of themselves and their dreams somewhere high in the endlessness of the blue sky, being constantly turned towards the stars, without knowing that many of them ceased to exist a long time ago, that everything is only a game of light and time. And all of us, more or less, somewhere deep inside us, want the life in clouds without being aware that our entire happiness lies hidden in the events happening while climbing up towards them. Each of us has experienced a terrible destiny and bitter inner struggles until we’ve realized the beauty of simplicity. The strangest thing of all is that only in the end do we get to know simple things.
Life in the clouds, author Suzana Stojanović, May 27, 2007

~ In pursuit of happiness ~

An old Arabic proverb says that there are two kinds of people: those who can be happy, but they aren’t and those who look for happiness, but never find it. Are we to look for happiness or it comes to us when we least expect it? Happiness and misfortune always go into the same direction, closely and alongside. They pass each other during our entire life; they intertwine and separate. And man, in all that chaos is always rushing in pursuit of happiness, sometimes even without knowing what he is looking for. He observes other people, looks back on seeing them and their happiness while turning his back to his own. With that tremendous desire to have what others do and to want what others do, he forgets about himself and doesn’t know how to live on what he has already got, even though he’s got plenty: a wonderful kingdom on this beautiful Earth of ours in which he can create, love, smile, sing and jump; the kingdom in which he can steal a gust of wind, rays of the sun and sea waves, without being told a word; the kingdom in which gods gave him the power to create the works worthy of describing. Yet, man spends his days in pursuit and playing lottery, while life, being given to him only once, irreversibly passes by him and disappears into the fog of wishes. And he’s never as unhappy as he thinks he is or as happy as he hoped he would be. He persistently seeks the hidden treasure and curiously pokes his nose into other people’s lives searching for the source of their happiness. Even Epimetheus and Pandora lived happily until curiosity stirred Pandora’s mind and led her to unlock the marvelous box ornamented with jewels and golden decorations out of which all the troubles and suffering of human beings suddenly started coming out. Hope, which came out from the box last, like a small bird, represented not only a sign of consolation to humanity, but also a warning that happiness is precious and rare and that it should be kept. A moment of happiness wipes away all the days of torment in us and helps us move on again. If people knew how little it takes to be happy, they would avoid the worst moments in life. We will realize whether we were happy or not only when some misfortune happens. So, before you go in pursuit for it, check, maybe you’re already happy. Happiness is small, ordinary and unobtrusive and many aren’t able to see it. All that we need to achieve it is within ourselves.
In pursuit of happiness, author Suzana Stojanović, April 23, 2007

~ By imagination to the truth ~

It all began out there, among the stars. On each threshold of survival, each bulwark of existence, the eternal music echoes in the warm crust of the magnificent, blue Earth. Lifeless, yet it still lives; without a weather forecast and fear, it sends its secret signals to the endless sky. Its strength is greater than infinity: its name is Imagination and its last name is Wanderer. It is always indefatigably in search of the values and truths. The value is relative. The truth is our nightmare. Will the absolute truth, if it exists at all at least in our imagination, satisfy our desires, or will it disappoint us to such an extent that we hate ourselves for having discovered it? Everything is so way ahead of us that we cannot reach it, but we can always chase that “something” with our imagination. The day will come when we will find out that it is the shortest way to the truth. And there will be more of us mortals with desires, fears and unfulfilled dreams, and all of us will die with a slight feeling of sadness. A lot of questions will be left behind; lots of sleepless nights spent staring at the stars. And once again, we won’t know where we have left our traces, we won’t know the meaning of our existence, we won’t find our homes; we will wander through the fog searching for our homeland. It’s sad that every existence is going to be only a memory and maybe some preserved image. The memory will remain for eternity, but what if there is no more eternity? Only imagination will go to eternity, taking with itself all of its secrets which have been hidden from ignorance and shortsightedness for centuries. So, let it lead us, at least sometimes, along the paths of our existence. Let’s try to avoid sadness that oppresses us so much and makes our insignificant lives even less significant. Let’s follow the paths of our imagination, because only the feelings buried deep inside of us can take us far away from our cruel reality. Only imagination and truth will survive. Everything that exists outside of them is fragile, doomed to an end. And we don’t want the end, do we?
By imagination to the truth, author Suzana Stojanović, January 24, 2007

~ My way ~

Once upon Hemingway said that happiness comes in different shapes, and who’s the one to recognize it. The only secret is to find out what makes you happy. There are small and great wishes in your life, small and great dreams. Every dream becomes great dream and every wish becomes great wish if it comes true. The only question is how to find happiness in labyrinth of life because of many highroads and cross-roads? In the open sky, our guide will be sun, in the open night the stars will guide us, but how to find your way in the darkness without stars: only you, silence and darkness. For some people it is easier to find their ways in dark and silence. They see in the dark only what they want to see and they hear clearly themselves heart beating and the whispering of their wishes in silence. At the moment I write this, I’m trying to remember the beginning of my way, but I can’t. The ways have no beginnings and ends, they gather, they split, but everyone goes somewhere. Even when you come to dead-end, you can always turn back and you are again on the new way. I remember my childhood and the morning by the window when I was thinking so long why everybody go and rush somewhere? Where do they arrive? Why birds fly all the time and where they fly? Why the rivers flow somewhere, why the roads follow rivers? I remember my sweetest dream, when I didn’t want to wake up: I had wings and I was flying, so far, everywhere; left mountains and seas behind myself and get back to them again; I hadn’t felt my body, only happiness without limits. I’ve dreamed again the same dream and one day I quit looking for my way, I found out that my way is inside me, without marks, without direction, endless. My way is my freedom, happiness and liberty. And I’ll go wherever I want: perhaps to follow some bird if its feathers have enough colors, perhaps to follow some boat if the open sea is great enough, some train if there are no tunnels. I’ll go to follow my wishes and I know I’ll be happy as long as my way is inside me.
My way, author Suzana Stojanović, August 11, 2006

~ People from the shadow ~

Since the beginning of time there has been a conflict between men, lions, dogs and roosters. The slaves fought to conquer freedom, the knights to save honor, and the greedy to take the throne. These battles always end after one side loses its strength. However, there is one battle that never ends. It is the one between good and evil. Man discovered it ages ago, probably out of boredom. People liked it so much that they nurtured it to this very day. Once upon a time, people were brave and fought on battlefields. Eyes in the eyes, chest in the chest, they fought for some of their beliefs until the last breath. These battles were available to everybody and everyone could participate in them. Times have changed. The battlefields turned into skyscrapers and industrial giants, whose streets are not swimming in the sun, but in the smog and shadows. In these shadows, the past and the present, justice and injustice, good and evil are struggling. On their throne there are mysterious people who don’t want the rest of the world to know they take part in these struggles. They always know what’s happening on the streets. Sometimes they are just ordinary people, people who we know and the ones we don’t know, and sometimes powerful men who have never been seen, living legends only heard of, concealed from the world in their kingdom of good or evil. They lurk quietly under the moonlight, think, judge, observe. And all of them, more or less, create the future of our civilization. We often wonder how and why something happened, who changed our lives, our future. Maybe it’s someone from our neighborhood, someone we wake up with, someone we often went out with to the nearest cafe, or maybe someone we have never met but who wanted to know everything about us. People from the shadow see and hear all and their main occupation is to preserve the existence of good and evil at any cost, even if they lose their lives over it. They easily reach their aim by passing through when we are sound asleep, but we are the ones who give them power by feeding them with our sincere wishes and secrets. We work, they just take credit for our labor and without a sound, and they make decisions about our insignificant lives. Those bad ones wait patiently for our first false move like snakes at the bottom of the ocean then they silently emerge and pull us to the bottom, to their kingdom of darkness. Evil is their only love. They care it from birth to the last day. And when all the drops evaporate, it always stays at the bottom, like sludge. So hidden, it is waiting for some new rain to melt it. In contrast to it, on the other hand is a light that is difficult to break through thick layers of darkness. Nevertheless, it sometimes succeeds in illuminating the path to us, and we think it has been a stroke of luck. We do not know that these are good people from the shadows, who bravely oppose evil, the greatest enemy of civilization, in whose flares of anger all our achievements are gone. It’s sad that more and more people are turning bad. Malice, selfishness and envy obscure their minds. Their whole miserable life is based on the destruction of others’ success and happiness. Even the sun started running away to avoid their enormous shadow. Even the good ones, who until recently have helped the hard-workers achieve more started to work. It’s probably the only thing they have left. It’s high time we ran away from boredom. Otherwise, we are going to become a part of the shadow.
People from the shadow, author Suzana Stojanović, February 17, 2007

~ Winner inside ourselves ~

Life is a labyrinth we must wriggle through, so many times lost and confused. The Sun is shining over you in one moment and the storm turbulent over you in the other moment. Every door will open only to those who believe and to those who keep going ahead, and never look back behind them. The nature’s laws are so strange: the winners are on one side, and defeated are on the other. Everyone is defeated only in the war and draw is possible only in chess game. It is easy to let to be defeated, but how to find a tiny spark inside ourselves that leads us to victory. Where to go when there is no path? On what do we rely, when there is nothing to rely upon? Where to find a shelter if the winds blow from all directions? How to win if you are your own path, rely on and a shelter? We only have ourselves, and not deliberated how much actually we have. All our strength and belief is inside ourselves and we will reach nowhere unless we start. The winner is one who can defeat himself first, the one who has enough courage and strength to face himself, and to make the first and the hardest step when no one expect it. The winner is the one who can be born from the ashes, like Phoenix, even stronger and wiser, ready to confront with the storm and to shout: “Let me see what you can do, because I can do that as well!” Only winner knows that route to victory is long and hard, with lot of suffering and sadness, but he is also deliberated how warm is that light waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, worth to fight and live for. With tears in his eyes and wounds on his heart, winner rushes ahead and never counts his steps and victories. Winner always carries deep inside himself story of Daedalus and Icarus, and doesn’t fly too high towards the Sun, and too low towards the sea. Only the ones with big hearts win, the ones who give hand to better one as well to fallen one, the one who can believe in visions and who can hear impossible, the one who has enough courage to observe existing coasts. Winner sleeps inside us and waits to be awakens by the bells.
Winner inside ourselves, author Suzana Stojanović, September 9, 2006

~ On the wings of the whirlwind ~

There’s a genie from the magic lamp that is as old and powerful as the time itself, the master of space and insignificant lives. We cannot see it; we only hear its steps. It takes away and destroys our hopes and dreams, our hearths and homes. Only the windmills, ships, kites, balloons and even some birds look forward to it. Its name is Whirlwind. It comes and goes whenever it wants. Often unannounced, it surprises us unprepared and steals from us our moments in which we do not have time to think. At these moments we are only aware of the fact that we have to flee. Merciless and inexorable, it takes on its wings weak and helpless birds that don’t have time to grow up and that cannot find shelter. They believe that they would be better off on its wings. They yield to its power and set off into the unknown. Sometimes, these birds come back. Perhaps they are afraid of what is familiar to them, or they are just running away from life, from themselves. Leaving is often the only solution for them. They leave behind their own little ones who, with grief in their eyes, observe them disappearing in the vortex of furious winds, and who only have to wait for carrier-pigeons and some new whirlwinds, with the hope of seeing them again. Some birds have to fly. Everything they’ve got is just a memory of the burnt nest and the whirlwind that will give them hope of finding their flock. These birds never come back. Their first stop is a place where they can find a glimmer of hope. Separated from their flock, alone, without names and features, in order to survive, they change their wings and build their nests in an unknown, foreign space. Will is the only support they have. Built from suffering and fear, their nests are so strong that they can resist even the strongest winds. Some of them have been preserved so long that we can find them after many centuries. Confused scientists accidentally discover them in unexpected places. These strange birds and their more strange nests often change the flows of history and contradict many theories. The origin and movement of some whirlwinds is associated with their habitats, in which some tired wings occasionally land in order to gather power to fly again. Except them, there is also a rare species of birds that choose freedom instead of cage and whirlwind instead of offered security. They are different from all other birds on their feathers, which are bright and on wings that are wind-covered. We can see their uniqueness and beauty only if we rise to their heights. Places where they often stay are only stories and legends. These birds are elusive. They fly because they want to, and because they know where they’re flying to; they know all the whirlwinds, the old and the new ones, the slight and the strong, and they wait patiently for the day when they will fly into the new beginning and rush to fulfill their dreams on the wings of the whirlwind. They know their way back, the question is whether they want to return. Their nests often remain empty forever, and for a long time they resist the tooth of time. We observe them with yearning, but also with a smile because we know that their inhabitants somewhere in the distant world find their way and happiness. Some birds just need to let them fly. Only then, they show how far their wishes and possibilities reach.
On the wings of the whirlwind, author Suzana Stojanović, February 17, 2007

~ Paintings of memories ~

There is one painting in the atelier of our lives that still stands unfinished. There is hidden treasure, deep inside us; only we can see it and touch it and only we can have it whenever we want, to spend it as much as we wish and not to spend all of it ever. Its name is Memories. And at the moment when something is missing a lot, we go to our hidden treasure and search for the thing we haven’t had for a long time and we would really like to have it once again, touch our sorrow, and again in one moment, we are happy like that. We remember one of those many days that changed our life. In the sea of memories we look for the answers to many questions. In only one moment we realize that many things we could not prevent and stop, but we are happy that we have memories, our endless treasure house, we could carry every joy and every sorrow of our heart in it and to enjoy them whenever we want. If there had not been so much joy, we would have never known how much the life is beautiful and only one. If there had not been so much sorrow in our lives, we would not have what to write, there would not have been enough colors in our paintings. I return to my short childhood with smile on my face, I remember my first colored paintings and little dreams, little wishes, first small dog, first violin that I rejoiced that much. And I would like to be a child again just for one moment, to touch all those clean and forgotten things, to be happy for small presents, for every flower in my mother’s garden, every colorful bird that would by chance flew to our windows, every colored pencil and my grandpa’s big boxes of candies. Now I know that I was a child for such short time, but that short time never died in me. At least a small part of every my painting I will give to my childhood: maybe to blueness of the sky, that was carrying our first kites, maybe to greenness of grass, where we were trolling so many times, maybe to silver twinkling of river, where we chased frogs for the first time and laughed for long time, perhaps in the eyes of strangers we met for the first time. With every movement of my paintbrush I return to my first schooldays, to first wickedness when we did not even know what we wanted. The thing that we were young and immature was enough. With each blue color on my paintings I return to my first sea and its waves, first shells which I was looking for hours and hours on the other beaches. I return to those people who are not present anymore, but who gave me a lot. I return to my grandfather, who was my voice of wisdom, who took with himself all our secrets into one world far away, who gave me a heart that big. Our last talk changed my view of the world. In my memories I return to my friends and our sleepless nights, to my Peggy who knew how to love, to look after and to protect my peaceful dream. Every day I return to my mother and father who live for my smile. I return to day before when for the first time I wished to write down these words. I quest for my memories, for the day when I stopped being a child and I know that I will search for it forever since it does not exist. Every new morning brings us new drops of life that are collecting, disappearing and again falling down on our soul, heavy and inexplicable. And at the moment we do not want that at all, we hear them again persistently banging on the windows. And we can not handle with them, we can only wait for the sunshine to melt them, but the Sun is not always shining on our windows. I remember my sorrows and unfinished stories, the life that did not want to give a lot and wanted to take a lot. And if there it had not been I would not have remembered one love on wheels, I would not have remembered one March and deep dark eyes in purple color of sunset and I would have not known why I like Carmen and Forrest Gump. If there had not been that much of darkness, my paintings would not have had that light; if there had not been that many unfulfilled wishes I would not have dreamed. And again I rejoice at every new day although I know that it is full of sorrow and disappointment. I rejoice the fact that I exist, the fact that I breed, that I create, that I transform everything bad into good. I rejoice at every smile that I see in someone’s face, every warm word. And I know that everything is not still lost since we exist and our memories too.
Paintings of memories, author Suzana Stojanović, July 27, 2006

~ Freedom is power ~

In the endless train of our life quests, sleeping the stories of many departures into the unknown world, of suffering and goodbyes. Someone found love and happiness on the railroads, and some disappointment and restlessness. Train journeys are long, they may represent the only moment when we feel that all the time in this world belongs to us. As the images of cities and people are quickly passing by, we are slowly thinking about life. On that long journey we have to choose whether to live our own life or to let ourselves lead a fake one. We meet different people and hear their life stories which are sometimes tragic and sometimes beautiful. Some of them in this uninterrupted movement seek the island of hope, and some peace and tranquility. This is a story about a man lost somewhere on the bridge between family and work, in the crowd of people and reality. I met him by accident twenty years ago when I decided to take a step into the far away world and face all its beauty and dangers. Somewhere in that world I met him, the man who reappeared so many times in my thoughts. I remember that time when we were young and brave but at the same time conscious that freedom is our greatest treasure that has no price. Our homes were trains and travels, the sky full of stars which we observed for so long, fantasizing. And then everything changed. War ruined our wishes and dreams. We could no longer see the stars. Everything turned into dust and the wind that carried lives and people into an unknown direction. This whirlwind swallowed all our expectations. All that left was a memory and the promise we gave one another a long time ago. I’ve been keeping him deep in my heart for all these years. Now, while I’m writing this, I’m coming back to him for the last time and I remember everything with tears in my eyes; after twenty years someone from the far away world tried to refresh his memories. I don’t know how, but I knew it was him. Everything seemed unreal, I thought I was dreaming. And then, suddenly, I started waking up from that dream. My memory started to fade away somewhere into the distance, in the shadow of the man who was looking at me without the sparkle in his eyes, in the shadow of bodyguards who kept his freedom. - I’ve become a powerful man - was one of the first sentences he pronounced. - And what is power? - I asked. His blurred look wandered around the black limousine with dark windows, his bodyguards were waiting like trained dogs, being quiet, listening. An unnatural smile was spreading across the room while he was telling me about his wealth, about people whose destinies he created. While I was watching a strange man in the same body, pain was ripping through my chest. He was in the clouds not knowing that greater height brings greater desolation. That powerful man I no more recognized tried to buy my freedom with gifts, he forgot that once he knew that freedom cannot be bought and that generosity isn’t in one’s pocket but in one’s heart. He couldn’t face the fact that I remained the same, that in spite of all the temptations I managed to preserve myself; the price wasn’t important. He was planning our happiness without knowing that nothing’s more hopeless than its planning. - Do you remember the promise? - I asked. He was quiet. That was some kind of answer, too. I was creating while he was enjoying his power. I created “Wonderful world” and gave it to him as a present, I gave something priceless, the part of my heart where I kept and nurtured the memory and the promise. It was hard saying goodbye, not to the strange man in the same body but to the memories. I said goodbye and kissed the freedom. And yes, I felt powerful!
Freedom is power, author Suzana Stojanović, July 10, 2008

~ Love as an inspiration ~

Our world would be gloomy and empty if it did not offer to every single epoch something new for exploring. Nature, as the greatest mystery, does not immediately reveal its secrets to everyone. Human brain has been forcing itself from the very beginning to find out its secrets, to touch its hidden treasures. Those who have been the most persistent and the most curious dedicated their whole lives to the quest to the unknown. There is one trip that never ends. There is one eternal mystery that lives of its appearance and believes in miracles. It is a beginning and the end of everything. It gives a little and takes a lot. Some have lost their lives battles on its uncertain paths, and some have found the lost peace and inspiration. The name of it is Love. Mighty and unbeatable, it does not recognize the borders, races, religions and centuries. It left indelible marks on many paintings, in many wistful glances lost somewhere behind frames and in statues sculpted in tears and fears. The most beautiful songs and stories spoke of its origin and disappearance, the beauty of many forgotten moments, despair and the end. Love is always inspiring: when it is unrequited, and when it is platonic, and when it is finished. Even the emptiness of many souls, like the endless universe, becomes paintings that can still be unknown mixture of colors and feelings known only to their creators. In some moments, too strong and big, love does not leave space to other beings, does not allow other inspirations to overcome it. Many walls around the world, decorated with beautiful works, witnesses of the existence of great love and inexhaustible inspiration. On them are some, perhaps intentionally unfinished works, whose truth is cruel and painful, but perhaps too beautiful to finish. Magnificent canvases created from the game of rebellious nature inspired artists and interesting models are painted the pages of diaries of many lives and minds. Beautiful red-haired Fernande Olivier came to rest on many Picasso paintings. Fascinated by the beautiful, sophisticated and elegant Hermina Muni Dauber, Paja Jovanović is conveyed her beauty on many of their fascinating canvases. Even now, after many years, they rest side by side in the Alley of the Greats. Fantasies in love Rubens reduced the artist’s portraits of the characters of two real women: Isabella and Helena. His world became closed to all others, and is open only for his beloved wives, whose features we see in female characters in many of his paintings. Their wonderful portraits have become an indispensable part of many religious and mythological themes of the great master. Inspired by the enchanting and delicate Emilie Floge, Klimt portrait of her was captured in outlandish image composition of the painting, and created a perfection that shyly looks at us from the painting after many years. Monet so loved Camille Doncieux that he painted her as she lay on her deathbed. After the death of his beloved Gala, Dali was remained to live in the tower of the castle, which he bought for her, waiting for her to appear from somewhere and held out her hand to save him from the darkness that engulfed him after her departure. They say that those who love too much lose everything. Perhaps there is some truth in that. If in love we do not take what belongs to us, it will be taken by someone else. Inspiration is still waiting. It survived by virtue of the countless taking and giving.
Love as an inspiration, author Suzana Stojanović, December 24, 2006

~ Pride without cover ~

During one of many travels into known and unknown, during one of many usual and unusual days, while diving into half-dream and you think of everything and nothing, suddenly you meet someone. They say that the first impression is the most important. There is certain truth in that as long as it turns out different. His attitude, overt pride, something in his words that leaves us breathless and attract you. It seems that one moment has just turned into eternity. You just don’t want it to stop. Something in that look of the eye drags you to go further, to explore, to finds out more. Here a story of a human who changed own name begins, about the man who was once called SOMEBODY and today is called NOBODY. Just in one moment you come to glance that you were born under one happy star, that you have found the treasure on the bottom of the sea, something precious that is rarely met in a life. His shiny, mysterious and unattainable eye look is signified also his intellect. His calm and balanced words, in one strange, but in the same time logical composition, weaved a story that could be read in many ways. Security and clearness of his speech relieves you from every suspicion, simply believing in the things you hear. SOMEBODY had his own attitude about everything and with his proud presence he showed that he believes in himself and that he stands for everything he says. And in the moments when he rarely surprises with his motion, you feel so great, SOMEBODY was thinking about you. If he wasn’t so SOMEBODY in your eyes, it would be so usual, daily. That beautiful feeling keeps you in days while life, cruel and unpredictable, does start with the other flow. In that mess only courageous, secure and witted go further, those weak remain where they are. SOMEBODY, in the shade of its pride without cover does not want to fight and go more, his pride is more important than anything, even than his life. And you still believe that SOMEBODY is SOMEBODY, you believe that his time will come, you find a million reasons to justify him in your own eyes only, not to damage that first impression. You are listening carefully to his words. You absorb them into your soul. And then, slowly you make the puzzle, you start to know SOMEBODY up to the end. SOMEBODY started to become NOBODY. In a moment you think that only wrong composition of words was guilty for that, but you cannot blame the deeds, so clear and imperishable. SOMEBODY became NOBODY. In front of you one has a human hiding behind his pride without cover, totally insecure, not-defined, contradictory, inconclusive, made of lies, a human who does not know what he wants and someone who you cannot trust anymore, ever. His single weapon is pride without cover and now just a pale story once you enjoyed in. In his life traveling NOBODY will play so many times again his role with the aim to give little and take a lot, but he could never take the most the valuable from him and for his huge pride he could not see more and further. He will be drowned in his pride without cover.
Pride without cover, author Suzana Stojanović, November 29, 2006

~ Zebras and questions ~

We remember some cities by mimosas, some by luminous advertisements, and some by street musicians. Some of them bring joy to us, and some sadness and disappointment. Below the umbrella of shine and promise, many doubts and questions are often hidden. Light and beautiful facades do not always mean the realization of a dream. Sometimes, not so attractive places can surprise us with the opportunities they provide. Behind unknown corners are waiting for us events and encounters that we did not hope for in dreams. Some of these mysterious corners change our lives completely. As we enjoy long walks and in a warm rain that gently drains down the buildings and sidewalks, our thoughts break the white stripes that we can not avoid anyhow, no matter how hard we try. Sprinkled with streams of rain, in the late nights and in the half-dark streets, they are even more pronounced and brighter. Like magical rugs, these persistent zebras hide secret symbols that show us the way to some new shores. And we, like Aladdin, can not resist the adventures. We want to know the answers to all the questions and to explore every possible nook, passage and showcase that is indicated. Behind the iron fences, which pass by us, begins another, unknown world, full of secrets and questions. Each of these fences conceals a story, which we can only sometimes perceive. Maybe behind one of them is waiting for us the door to which we will once ring and the opportunities that we will grab once, and perhaps the zebras have led us to the wrong side of the street where unpleasant surprises await us? “Maybe” is the word from which we never separate as we walk. With each new step, we are moving away from something and approaching something. Each new zebra brings up new questions, which, like the swarms of bees, are constantly scattered around our heads and persistently stirs, as if they were looking for answers. With unknown sidewalks there are unknown trepidation and fears of possible events for which we are not ready. What if behind this new, unknown corner, suffering awaits us or people that we do not want to meet? Maybe these are our last moments after which there are no more streets or circular roads, but only one infinitely long straight line. We wonder why the end often comes unannounced. Maybe we wanted to get ready for that meeting, but someone or something did not give us time. So unprepared, some strange questions are attacking us, and we, frightened, are looking for zebras to take us to a safer place, far from them. Perhaps we have not yet fully understood the meaning of the white stripes. The abandoned beings understand them better than we do. They help them find shelters and havens, and they only bring us burden and questions. Why does a man like new streets, even if he did not meet the old ones well? Is curiosity or escape his load star? What motivates him so strongly that he is constantly walking? It may be a challenge or a fear, and perhaps both. Why are some people afraid of clowns? Perhaps because they do not know who hides behind sadly smiling faces, and perhaps because of their balloons? While so tired of the questions and answers we are heading towards some goal, we can not but observe glittering lights that, like the supernova, disperse large-scale energy. It’s the part of the city where something big is always happening. All the zebras lead to it. It is the beginning and the end of many events, the starting and coming station of many columns. Everything in it is designed to the smallest details that steal many views and attract many unknown guests. There are sadness and joy, youth and age, health and illness. It is the oldest part of the city where there are always plenty of flowers and which always promises. However, in the shadow of this promise and light, the darkness and misery of man and society and the locked gates of many uncertain streets are often hidden. Attracted by its splendor, we do not see these shadows. We hurry across the white stripes in a new, better tomorrow. We are taking long steps towards deception of a new, nameless world. And just at the moment, when we think that we have escaped from the questions, some new, heavy and difficult ones begin to appear again. Why are all squares similar? Why do fountains adorn the squares? Are they because of the squares or the thirsty world? Why is snow the most beautiful under the lights? In the end, when the winter arrives and when only barely visible contours under the snow remain from the zebras, there are always almost unbearable questions that we have no answers.
Zebras and questions, author Suzana Stojanović, February 16, 2007

~ A strange bride ~

Great works last long, they make us observe and study them as if it was our first time. We often ask ourselves: Why do we return to them? Who are the people who can create something so strong? I've been thinking for quite a long time about one movie made in 1994. It’s a special movie, not only because of great names like Anthony Hopkins and Brad Pitt. The thing I always remember when I think about “Legends of the fall” is the soothing voice and the words I’ve returned to so many times: “Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness and they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy or they become legends.” A friend of mine has recently told me that one should sometimes listen to their inner voices. The word “sometimes” is the right word. Maybe we should only “sometimes” set off into uncertainty, perhaps at times when we deeply believe in something or when we have nothing to lose, and perhaps being too brave isn’t a very good thing. Some people simply can’t run away from their “sometimes” and from the past, they are constantly coming back to it and waste their whole life. Miloš Crnjanski observed this in a completely specific way: “The past represents a terrible, gloomy abyss; whatever goes into that darkness does not exist anymore and have never existed.” In that darkness we meet various people, different destinies. We occasionally remember some of them and some we completely forget. This is a story about a woman whom many people forgot a long time ago, a story about a tragic destiny and an insignificant human life for which one didn’t care for. I was a child when I saw her for the last time, but that image remained engraved into my memory. Maybe I remember her because she was strange, because she dressed and acted strangely and maybe because she was called “The strange bride”. She was always going the same way at the same time. She was always dressed the same and carried the same purse. Even now, after so many years, I remember each detail of her clothes, her white scarf and a dirty white coat, dirty sandals and tights. I remember her red face and big eyes which hid from others. She was always quiet. Children threw rocks at her and chased her. The older ones, those who got used to her appearance a long time ago, didn’t pay attention. I asked many people what happened to her, but I didn’t get the answer. Now, after so many years, I’ve started searching for the data about her destiny and found not so many of them. “The strange bride” used to be a beautiful girl. Poverty made her seek her fortune and she found herself working as a laundress for a wealthy lawyer. There she fell in love for the first time. Her own brother had destroyed all her dreams on her wedding day. Her trauma couldn’t come to an end. Embarrassed and humiliated, she ran away from everybody. A greater mental crisis came with years. She turned into a wandering ghost. She lived in the world which was only hers. And then, she disappeared quietly, taking with her the unknown world she created, all of her sorrow and the life which was hell. A Jewish proverb says that those who abandon themselves aren’t worthy of salvation. Is it so?
A strange bride, author Suzana Stojanović, July 11, 2008

~ The Prince and the Beggar ~

All stories begin and end somewhere; some of them happy, some sad. This is a story of a royal family. As in every family, the happiest are the days when babies are born. Bells were heard in the kingdom that day; a big celebration, not yet seen, was about to take place. The soft crying of the children was heard in the royal chambers. The Queen was smiling gently and the King was overwhelmed by feelings of happiness because of his two heirs. Beautiful gold coins, very carefully designed for that day, glittered beside their little heads. The King even opened the door of the dungeon, thinking that it was the right way to show his gratitude to God for being blessed with two sons. Everybody was happy, even the court beasts roared, contributing to the general celebratory mood that had been created. The celebration went on for days, until one morning, everything suddenly became still. In the royal chambers only the cry of one of the children was heard. The other Prince disappeared without a trace. The King alerted the entire army; everyone was in search of the Prince like mad, but with no success. As the time went by, the little Prince grew up and the King, living in fear that he might lose him too, treasured him like the apple of his eye. Even though the Prince had everything he wished for at the court, he was lonely and miserable. He would sadly stand beside the window for days and watch the mountains in the distance; he dreamed of other people, other kingdoms; he even fell in love with a beautiful Princess; yet, he was miserable because he could offer her nothing besides his sadness and an enormous wealth. The King, seeing his son’s grief, decided to offer a big reward to the one who could make him happy. Many people from other kingdoms gathered. The Prince was waiting eagerly for this day, hoping his life would change at last. And just when everyone thought that nothing could be done, a quiet voice was heard: “Your Royal Highness, would you like to change places? Maybe this new experience will change your life.” A beggar, in rags, stood humbly in front of the Prince and watched him constantly. - And who are you? - Prince asked. - I’m a beggar, master - he answered. The Prince found this idea so interesting that he accepted it. He put on the beggar’s clothes and, at the break of dawn went into the unknown. Thus, the Prince became the beggar and the beggar became the Prince, and both of them began wholly new lives. The Prince wandered around for days and nights, begging for some food. At first, his best friends were stray dogs, but after a while he started meeting other beggars who told him different stories which were mostly half-true. It was quite a new world in which hunger and coldness prevailed and the Prince felt that, apart from everything, sadness was slowly fading away from his heart. He had some new desires that he hadn’t been aware of before. He was fighting for his own life and survival. Having discovered that he possessed new abilities, he felt happier. He had his freedom, he made decisions about his life on his own, and that seemed very interesting to him. At the same time, the beggar enjoyed the benefit of the court; he even made the land of the kingdom larger. Leading the life of a beggar taught him not only to make something out of nothing, but also that wisdom is the greatest virtue of all. The King and the Queen loved him as their own son. One day, a beautiful Princess, who was once loved by the Prince, came to the court and fell in love with the beggar. Upon seeing her, the beggar was stunned by her remarkable beauty and fell in love at once. He told her about various adventures from his life until, one day, he decided to reveal his greatest secret to her. - I have something to show you - he said, and pulled out a beautiful, wrapped gold coin. - The man on his death bed, who took care of me when I was little, left me this, saying that I shouldn’t show it to anyone; the truth will come out when the time is right. The Princess immediately told her nanny everything and soon the Queen herself heard the story which helped her find her missing son after so many years. The bells were heard in the kingdom again, announcing the wedding, and the King decided to be righteous; he looked at the mountains in the distance, waiting for the Prince. During that time, the Prince had many adventures while wandering around the world until one day he realized that he wanted to come home. He dreamed of his Princess, of his kingdom. Does this story have a happy ending? You decide. Someone once said that everybody should know when to stop. This is the right moment, isn’t it?
The Prince and the Beggar, author Suzana Stojanović, February 18, 2007

~ Sadness in the eyes ~

An old saying says that we find out who we are by what we do, as we find out what we deserve by what makes us suffer. Each man is a star for itself, everything always happens and never and each human being is a sanctity. At the moment of man’s death the whole treasure dies with him and without people, their experience, destinies and events there’s no true history of one civilization, one nation. History is dead, incomplete and empty without them. Empty is also the truth about the complete and definite loss of trace in time that someone has ever existed somewhere, regardless of whether his life was interesting, fulfilled, troubled. With his death the traces of man’s soul as well as his unfulfilled wishes and imagination disappear. A small man is neglected, doomed to eternal anonymity and absolute disappearance in time. Crucifying on the pillar of humiliation, in order not to get hurt, he often had to bow to one side. He lives only as far as there are living beings who remember him. Maybe there was so much he wanted to ask, to say and show, but there was no chance. His questions remained forever trapped somewhere in the dungeons of fear, suspense, darkness, insecurity and trepidation. His words remained to speak silently in his endlessly sad eyes. Wishes were left in the dreams about which he was not allowed to speak. If life is all that is good, then why is it being taken? If it is all that is bad, why is it being given? It is said that a man’s life strength is measured by his ability to forget. Man remembers if he wants to but he forgets if he can. He may remember love and rainbow after the rain, but he will never forget who is and where his roots are; and when someone accidentally or deliberately hides them, he always finds them sooner or later. It is the core of his being, a smoldering fire in his soul. A man never forgets the bottom he touched, the shadows on the roofs and the song of the devil. It persistently calls him when he is awake and while sleeping. It wants tears and fear in his eyes to confirm its power, but tears no longer exist. The fears were taken by its ominous birds. Behind them there was silence and the memory that they had made noise a long time ago. There remained a faded image of a difficult time, tired eyes and sadness, endless sadness. In just one sentence Ivo Andrić described all the cruelty of life: “Only pain lifts man up to the enormous, endless love towards people.” Is it so? Is there a place for a soul among the stars, a clean, high place where the horror of the Earth doesn’t reach? Will somebody tell the truth or everything must be a secret? In life, there is a line behind which there is no turning back. Beyond it, man doesn’t look for salvation and shelters anymore, he doesn’t sail or sink, he doesn’t wait for the tide and ebb, he doesn’t dream. There are no more fears and expectations. Only pain, memories and endless sadness remain in the eyes and only one question: WHY?
Sadness in the eyes, author Suzana Stojanović, January 12, 2008

~ The Magical World of Horses ~









Dance 2017.
Original oil on canvas painting
 42x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses




Morning 2016.
Original oil on canvas painting
 30x39 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses
» Detail








Devil 2014.
Original oil on canvas painting
 40x28 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses
  » Work in progress
 




Hope 2012.
Original oil on canvas painting
 30x32.5 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses
  » Detail
 








The King 2011.
Original oil on canvas painting

 59x42 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

» Work in progress
  » Detail
 



Mirror 2010.
Original oil on canvas painting

 27x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

» Detail









Friendship 2009.
Original oil on canvas painting

42x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

» Detail

   






Keeyana 2008.
Original pencil drawing
 30x24 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses




Wonderful World 2008.
Original pencil drawing
 33x41 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   






Connection 2008.
Original pencil drawing
 30x24 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   


Silence 2007.
Original oil on canvas painting
 27x39 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   



Fairies 2007.
Original pencil drawing
 29x32 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

  
  







The call 2007.
Original pencil drawing
 50x35 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   




In clouds 2007.
Original pencil drawing
 34x36 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses



Heaven riders 2006.
Original oil on canvas painting
 35x55 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses
» Detail

   





Flame 2006.
Original pastel drawing
 35x34 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   












Friends 2006.
Original pencil drawing
 41x20 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

  


Family 2006.
Original pencil drawing
 40x57 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses


  


Sunset 2006.
Original pencil drawing
 28x41 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses


  
  






My way 2006.
Original pencil drawing
 40x29 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   


Winner 2005.
Original oil on canvas painting
 40x56 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses
» Detail

   






Dream 2003.
Original oil on canvas painting
 50x40 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   






Princess 2003.
Original oil on canvas painting
 50x40 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses
» Detail
   



Awakening 2002.
Original oil on canvas painting
 24x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   



Whirlwind 2002.
Original oil on canvas painting
 24x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

   



Blue blood 2002.
Original oil on canvas painting
 24x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

  










Whisper 2001.
Original pastel drawing
 42x29 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses








Love 2001.
Original pastel drawing
 31x29 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses









Curl 2001.
Original pastel drawing
 40x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses










۞

The old sacred books say that the Almighty made a horse out of a gust of wind. They say that all the treasure of the world is in between its magical eyes. Might and pride are within its mane. It will fly without wings and win without a sword. Because of its endurance, loyalty and obedience, one considers it one of the greatest living blessings. He nurtured and maintained it for centuries as his most precious friend and assistant. Many of his achievements in war and peace have come true with it, so it is often praised in many folk and heroic songs. Powerful empires were formed on its back and collapsed under its hooves. It tirelessly carried heavy armor, weapons, equipment and ammunition and passed through impenetrable forests and mountains, in order to win many victories together with his master. By virtue of it and the deadly chariots, Persia was once a martial superpower. If it were not for him, Alexander the Great would never be called the “Great” and won many territories, and Napoleon’s conquests across Europe would not have come true, but only one big dream would remain. In the battle of the mainland, the Romans used a cavalry, which was especially enhanced during the reign of Diocletian and Constantine. In the year 376, on the border of the Roman Empire, the merciless Huns appeared with their light cavalry. They first started to use stirrups. They represented a great danger for all people, even for powerful Romans. In 378, the Huns teamed up with the Gothic cavalry and defeated the Romans in the Battle of Hadrianopolis. Seventy years after this battle, the Romans led their last fight in which the largest number of horsemen took part. In 451, in the Catalaunian Plains, they were fighting, with Attila at the head, and twenty years later the Roman Empire collapsed. After the collapse of the Roman Empire and the death of Attila (453), the Empire of the Huns dominated its territory, and the border was preserved by Byzantium under the command of Belisarius, forming a great cavalry. Byzantium was constantly attacked by the Avars from the Pannonian Plain, who were famous for leaving the stirrups on their way from Mongolia to the Danube. Fear of Huns and Avars can not be compared with the fear that caused the Mongol hordes under the leadership of Genghis Khan. During 1206, the Mongols entered the northern China and destroyed it in a few years, and then began to conquer Europe. Their destruction can not be compared with the destruction in all wars, and their terrible horsemen trampled and destroyed everything that was on their way. Famous Genghis Khan became king in the thirteenth year and managed to unite all Mongolian tribes. He defeated the whole of Europe and continued conquests until his bizarre death, when he was killed in the hunt under the hooves of his own horse. China was reunited in 1279 by virtue of Kublai Khan (grandson of Genghis Khan), and became a new and progressive empire. The last Mongolian tribe, the Tatars, captured Asia and the Middle East, even threatened the Ottoman Empire, led by the fearless Tamerlane. His cavalry had only one formation unit consisting of ten thousand horsemen. Each horseman acted independently, but as a whole they were very well organized and disciplined. However, after Tamerlane’s death, in 1405, his empire collapsed, and the rest were only memories of terrible destruction, accomplished with the help of famous horsemen. Proud and noble, their horses are born only to triumphs: when everyone gives up, they move forward; when we all go down, they climb to new heights; when all the retreat, they’re hard as rocks, defying all odds. The lances of many turbulent times were smashed on their powerful chest. Throughout history, they have always been faithful companions of people and contributed to the development of civilization. We meet with them even on, twenty-eight thousand years before the new era, old paintings in the Chauvet Cave, in Ardèche canyon, in France, and on lovely statuettes made of stone, bone and horn, found in a cave in southwestern Germany. In ancient times, some nations considered them sacred animals. Their endurance has laid the foundations of many fortresses and ramparts, and their divine beauty appears in many paintings, illustrations, frescoes and imposing statues all over the world. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, is remarkably presented with the statue of horseman at the Capitoline Hill in Rome. Unknown soldiers and heroes made in bronze and stone, rest with their magnificent friends on many vast squares. Their miraculous strength and legendary beauty are an inexhaustible source of inspiration to many artists, who have made a major contribution to cherishing the value and beauty of this magical animal. Glow in their eyes left a unique and indelible trace, and their deep mysterious view accompanies us in all walks of life. Although we believe that we are close enough to them, and we know enough them, they were and have always remained a big secret. Their magical world is all around us, and yet we have not been able enough to examine and discover it. Unique Palomino horses, known by their golden body and silvery white tail, are the big mystery for scientists. The graceful, magnificent and playful Lipizzaner is a master of the arenas and parades. We look at it with admiration while performing a dance, known only to it. We enjoy in rare moments of elusive beauty and snowy whiteness, and we wonder how come there’s so much magic in one being. Beautiful Haflinger, with light mane and a strong heart, is struggling with rugged landscapes and the sharp peaks of the Alps. The Andalusian horse cruises in Spain, while its luxuriant, wavy mane, fluttering in the wind. Intelligent and obedient, it was the truest friend of many kings across Europe, and is considered the best horse in the world. Agile and graceful, black Friesian participated with knights in many medieval wars throughout Europe. Gorgeous and priceless, the horses are present everywhere: in our past, present and future; in fairy tales and forgotten wilderness, in the world’s greatest battles, in the traces of endless caravans of warm desert sand. If the road takes us to the vast expanse of India, on its gates will welcome us proud and elegant prince of the kingdom of Marwar desert, which for centuries has tirelessly carried warriors of the Rajput tribe on their strong backs. Its Arab and Turkmenistan origin identified in the lively movement and high durability. North American Mustang with its magic won the whole world: beauty, grace, speed and independence are intertwined in it. While it rushes across the field to meet the setting sun, it seems to us that the flame erupts from its lush mane. Because it symbolizes strength and freedom, it is distinguished as one of the most common motifs in art. Tang Dynasty painting is especially well-known for processing the themes of knight’s ambient and wide landscapes with horses in the gallop. In the paintings of Paolo Uccello, which represent the battle of the horsemen, the depth of space opens up in the confusion of intertwined horse legs. We meet with their epic beauty in the works of many Renaissance artists (Leonardo da Vinci, Albrecht Dürer, Raphael, Titian, Benozzo Gozzoli), the canvases of Baroque greats (Rubens, Velázquez, Van Dyck) and in the age of Romanticism (Delacroix, George Stubbs). Painting and drawing them is a big challenge and temptation. They attracted not only by its external beauty, but also that of unattainable beauty that they carry deep within themselves for centuries. The whole eternity made of rare precious stones and all their pride, dignity and intelligence are reflected in their magical eyes. Those reflect a secret world, hidden somewhere in the mist of the rocky mountains, in the dust of horse racing, in the call of wild herds, in the spring green of flower meadows, in the company of the gods. Born in Greek mythology, they will continue to travel all the time and to shine with their whiteness, hooked in the chariot of war god, Ares. Some of them disappeared on the waves of the sea going to meet god Poseidon. Emerged as the fruit of Poseidon and Medusa’s love, begun in soft grass and in the scent of spring flowers, magical Pegasus of golden wings, flew to Zeus’s castle, the father of all gods, and brought lightning and thunders to him. One constellation, which in the sky shines somewhere, between Andromeda and Aquarius, bears its name. There are many Chinese, Russian and Greek legends about the unicorn, for which there is a belief that he lived until the fourth century BC. It was a symbol of purebred, honesty, and sincerity. The hunters’ intention to catch it was futile. It was believed that its horn had incredible power. According to Chinese traditions, unicorn first appeared in 2697 before the new era in the palace of Emperor Huang Di. This period, which relates to its appearance, is considered incredibly well and gender. In those years musical instruments were found and the first time all Chinese tribes were united. The unicorn appeared for the second time before the death of the emperor in order to bring him to his grave, to the land of the greatness. Brave and loyal, horses remained to live on the pages of many works of great philosophers and writers. The extraordinary works of the Greek philosopher Xenophon still represent valuable material for all those who want to study them. Their eyes are persecuted, harassed and forced us to think. Once we connect ourselves to that magical view, it is very difficult to separate from it. It follows us everywhere. Many stories and legends, created on the slopes of an unexplored and interesting world, are woven in it. Proud-spirited and diverse, horses maintained their characteristics despite many hardships. Rare are the moments when we can hear the whisper of their soul. They speak with movements and views. Always beautiful, inscrutable, different and their own, they connect centuries and civilizations. They gallop with its chest, withstand efforts with heart and win with character and a fiery spirit.